


Blood On My Name

by jg82



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark, F/F, F/M, Sad, but hopeful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 02:12:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14661210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jg82/pseuds/jg82
Summary: “It must be done,” she croaks, ignoring the searing agony that penetrates her flesh, sinking hotly into her frigid soul. “Do we have a deal or not?”He tilts his head in that curious trickster fashion. Studying. Debating. Unnecessarily eating up precious time. “What’s in it for me again?”She growls at his deliberate prevaricating, split lip curling in building rage. “You already know!”“Ah yes.” His face distorts into a chilling maniacal grin. “This supposed Savior’s whereabouts.”She hates herself for having to do this. For having to make such a choice. But she’s out of options. Above the cacophony of mourners and her men’s dying loyalty, arise the approaching sounds of hell itself. Death but a mask for an empty vessel that has been in pursuit for days.Oh how foolish she has been. Ignorant. Selfish. Woefully unrepentant. Until this very end.





	Blood On My Name

**Author's Note:**

> A mini AU to get me back into my OUAT writing mental framework. I apologize for not updating any of my on-going stories recently. I picked up some freelance opportunities and it has consumed most of my free time. So as I'm winding these jobs down, I'm trying to prep myself.

__There's a reckonin' a-comin'  
And it burns beyond the grave  
Lead inside my belly  
'cause my soul has lost its way  
  
Oh, Lazarus  
How did your debts get paid?  
Oh, Lazarus  
Were you so afraid?  
  
When the fires, when the fires have surrounded you  
With the Hounds of Hell comin' after you  
I've got blood, I've got blood on my name  
  
When the fires, when the fires are consumin' you  
And your sacred stars won't be guiding you  
I've got blood, I've got blood  
Blood on my name

 

_ "Blood On My Name" - The Brothers Bright _

 

     She’s staring at Rumpelstiltskin.

     The distant fires enveloping the surrounding woodlands bouncing in his dark irises as their boots sink in this muddy battlefield. Rain is pounding down around them, but it’s not the soothing type. It’s nothing but ash and blood--staining their faces, coating their dark cloaks, singing the hairs upon their skin with biting pain.

     What was once her favorite sapphire dress now clings to her as rags beneath the burning shawl. His skin, glistening with cracks under the pelting violence like that of his beastly moniker, sizzle--tiny shards of flaming timber scorching trails, scarring the grey scales. 

     Neither of them move.

     Within the fiery torrent, among the wailing cries of grief and war, they bargain with fate, and each.

     “It must be done,” she croaks, ignoring the searing agony that penetrates her flesh, sinking hotly into her frigid soul. “Do we have a deal or not?”

     He tilts his head in that curious trickster fashion. Studying. Debating. Unnecessarily eating up precious time. “What’s in it for me again?”

     She growls at his deliberate prevaricating, split lip curling in building rage. “You already know!”

     “Ah yes.” His face distorts into a chilling maniacal grin. “This supposed Savior’s whereabouts.”

     She hates herself for having to do this.

     For having to make such a choice.

     But she’s out of options.

     Above the cacophony of mourners and her men’s dying loyalty, arise the approaching sounds of hell itself. Death but a mask for an empty vessel that has been in pursuit for days.  

     Oh how foolish she has been.

     Ignorant.

     Selfish.

     Woefully unrepentant.

     Until this very end.

     “Rumpelstiltskin, do we have a deal?” She won’t ask again. Either he’ll meet her request, or she’ll move onward, barely staying a breath ahead of the hungry hounds in want of her bones.

     He hums for a moment, gnarled fingers steepling in thought. A harsh wind whips up from out of nowhere, and she is forced to turn away for a moment, less the precious cargo concealed by her coat is exposed to such devastating elements without course.

     “Yes,” he finally agrees, rocking excitedly on his heels. In a flick of his wrist he produces a single rare magical bean to seal the contract at hand.

     Sighing in relief even as sorrow sweeps through her veins, weighing her weary body down, she allows the tears glistening in her amber orbs to fall--embracing the sting of them just as she does the descending embers.

     She cares not for how she looks.

     Nor for the gleam in the Imp’s eyes.

     She has thought and emotion for only one.

     Bending slightly to assure the magically enchanted afghan blanket will remain in place, she removes the toddler from the sling hidden beneath her covering that has been nestled warmly against her body for days. Securing the child in the crook of her arms, she stares down at large sea green eyes watching her every move.

     Her lips tremble with too many regrets to force voice past them. With too many doubts. Too many unsaid things concealed within her heart. This child, so full of light and wonder, doesn’t squirm more than a finger as their gazes lock among the decay befalling their kingdom.

     “Oh little one,” she warbles, gut wrenching sadness trickling down her smoke smudged cheeks. “One day, you’ll understand.” The tiny miracle flicks her intelligent eyes about, as if mapping her face, grasping--even now--the gravity of their situation. “And one day, I hope, you’ll remember me fondly for what I’m about to do.”

     Because the Gods know no one else will.

     Not after all she’s done.

     Especially her last sin.

     Closing her eyes, wishing for the first time since she was but a girl lost under her mother’s brutal ministrations, Regina kisses the flawless forehead framed by blonde curls. She savors the sweet softness of the newborn’s skin beneath her lips, and that wonderful scent of innocence that always seems to envelope them.

     She clings to it, burning it into her memory, for she wants it to be the last thing she thinks of.

     “If you wish to do this, it must be now,” the Dark One interrupts, pulling her back from the bubble of life she swears hope blossoms from.

     Lingering just a second longer, she sniffles against the child’s button nose, and finally pulls back to meet the girl’s inquisitive stare once more.

     “Goodbye, Emma,” she whispers, voice raw with impending separation. “May you always find a way to remain true to who you are.”

     The barest flicker of magic sparks between them, a cherub smile tugging at the young princess’ mouth.

     And she knows she’s done the right thing for once.

     Resolution locking her feet in place, she lifts her haunted eyes, and the famed monster of the Enchanted Forest hands off the fair White child to Rumpelstiltskin--giving him one last parting nod of assurance to complete their transaction.

     “She’ll be in good hands, deary,” he promises, beady orbs darting between them. “Rest assure.” He lifts Emma up so she’s more secure against him, her face pressed into his shoulder. “This wee lass will be safe in the arms of her alternate self like you asked.”

     “Just get her there quickly,” she demands, eyes shifting to the encroaching beasts salivating with desire upon sight of her.

     The Imp glances once at the thunderous pale death, then tosses the bean to the ground--opening a portal.

     Turning his head back her way to meet her transfixed stare, he raises his chin, and requests, “Give her hell, your Majesty,” before taking the single step forward, and disappearing down into the exit to elsewhere with an echoing chuckle.

     Swallowing heavily at the crushing loss of the most precious individual she has ever known as the vortex evaporates out of sight seconds later, the Evil Queen embraces her former mentor’s last words, and draws her shoulders back.

     Eyes blazing with unrestrained fury and magic, she flexes her blood stained hands, and sneers at the crazed hoard of soldiers being led by none other than Snow White herself. Sitting falsely high on her stolen black steed, the dethroned Queen screeches like the insane reaper of life that she is, and points accusingly her way.

     “Death to the witch that has stolen our salvation! To the woman who defiles everything she touches! Death to the Miller’s daughter! Death to my husband’s murderer! Death to Regina!”

     Slithering chords of magia writhing around her, rising up like a hydra, she sneers at the accusations and lifts her chin in defiance. “Do your worse,” she bellows, holding her ground while the distance between them rapidly dissipates. “None of us are getting out of this alive, not this time,  _ princess _ !” 

     It had been a tragic mistake. A misjudgment on her part. She should have known better. She should have seen. You don’t break the bonds of true love...not when it holds the promise of your future by a fragile string.

     Really, what else is there for her to do, but accept her punishment for such a misdeed?

     Daniel would be so ashamed. 

     But at least she’s made an amend in all of this. A small sliver of a correction to undo the travesty she’s brought about.

_      Emma. _

     Daughter of Snow White and the late Prince Charming.

     The future heir to the White Kingdom. The Savior. The strongest magical practitioner of light magia to ever exist. The Evil Queen’s Knight. Her Swan.

     Her (shockingly)  _ True Love _ ...

     In every other timeline

     ...But this one.

     The blood on her name is still wet, dripping from David’s limp hands.

     If only she had stopped herself...then maybe Snow wouldn’t have gone insane with grief. Maybe she wouldn’t have fallen as far as she had. Maybe they wouldn’t have ruined their world with war and so much dark consuming magic.

     Maybe.....she wouldn’t have had to save the princess from her own mother, and send her off in hopes that another version of herself can undo what she has unwittingly done.

     Maybe...

     Just....maybe...     

     She’s starting to believe in more than what she’s become.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? A bit dark, I know, but this song in particular plays a crucial point in one of my current works. I need to crawl into that emotional hole once more that Swanqueen requires to paint them justly.


End file.
